But three weeks ago, something woke me at two in the morning. The kind of waking where you go instantly from sleep to full alert. Spencer used to say it was someone walking over your grave. I got up, made tea, and sat in my kitchen in the dark, feeling as if I were waiting for something.

By morning, I’d picked up the phone, called Decker’s son, and given him Gregory’s name.

I didn’t know what I expected to find after all these years.

I didn’t expect this.

The report was methodical—a chronicle of systematic collapse. James Sterling, born in Seattle, moved to Ohio at age six. Average student. No criminal record. Married at twenty-two to Olivia Wittmann. Daughter born sixteen months ago: Sophie Marie Sterling. Employed at Midwest Manufacturing for five years. Recently laid off due to plant downsizing.

And then the unraveling.